


If you’ll be my body guard

by irritatedcat



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Culture, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Could Be Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Romance, Slow Burn, Torture, Weird Biology, Whipping, Whump, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-22 07:32:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11375517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irritatedcat/pseuds/irritatedcat
Summary: At length, Worf said, “It is worthy of at least one opera, sir.”Martok agreed, “It is, that.”A story wherein Martok tells Worf of the affair he had while being held by the Dominion on camp 371 with Julian Bashir. Set directly after By Inferno’s Light.





	1. Chapter 1

Quark’s was loud that evening, there were many Klingons on the station, and they sat in large groups at the bar, Dabo tables, and upper levels, laughing and singing and celebrating. Chancellor Gowron would arrive tomorrow and welcome the retrieved General Martok back into the folds of the Empire. Young warriors, boys who’d only been fighting for thirty months or less sat not far from the General and murmured with awe. Here was the first commoner to climb the ranks, a powerful man from a noble house, his eight sons and two daughters the children of legend as they fought across the galaxy for the Empire. Using skills they had learned from Martok as he had trained them all in combat, and they all were forces to be reckoned.

Of the ten children, only Drex and Ko’tar were aboard the station now, the others were heading home from their assignments to await Martok’s return. There were four chairs at the table, Martok sat with his back to the wall, eyes on the door, Ko’tar was opposite him, and Drex to the left of them. Martok set his cup down and turned to Ko’tar, his youngest and least ambitious child, “More bloodwine,” he grunted. The handsome young Klingon stood and marched to the bar to demand more bloodwine for himself, his father and brother.

Drex, the eldest and most ambitious of his children, gave his father a grim look, “Mother has not been pleased these past years.”

“I cannot imagine she would be,” Martok smiled, thinking with some guilt of his beautiful wife. She was extremely proud; the truth of his capture would be difficult for her. Not impossible, just difficult.

“The Changeling was a poor facsimile of you; she’s been suspicious longer than anyone. Aside from Gowron and the soldiers, mother was the one closest to the imposter.” Drex explained, then his tone turned sharp and angry, “I don’t know why she didn’t tell anyone else.”

Martok fixed his one good eye on his son and growled, “Do not dishonor her! If she were here you’d never say such a thing.” When Drex looked down, averting his father’s only good eye, Martok continued, “She had no proof. The only reason anyone became was aware of the switch is because of the Federation and their changeling.”

Ko’tar returned, a beaming, young, foolish Bajoran man at his side, “Father, Drex,” he said, setting down only two cups of bloodwine, “I’ll see you at departure tomorrow.” Then, he and the Bajoran left, arm in arm, both tittering with excitement.

Drex growled as he watched them leave, “You must speak with him about this! The imposter didn’t seem to care how he _flaunted_ these indiscretions but you must, father!”

Martok sighed loudly, recalling when he’d been a young man, freshly married to his Sirella, and passionate about tradition. So much like Drex, who was just as arrogant as his father. The General waved a hand at his son, “Ko’tar is not dishonoring our family. I do not care who or what he does, provided it is not without honor.”

Drex heaved a sigh, and slammed his fist on the table, “Father! I must insist--“

“Enough!” The General curled his lips into a fierce grimace, “I will hear nothing else from you this night. Leave me!” he quickly swallowed the contents of his glass and pushed it into his son’s hands. Drex growled at his father, teeth bared, but left without further argument.

Martok was given a wide berth from the other reveling Klingons; he was glad for it. There was much to think about and this night was not a celebratory one for him. He was alone for a few hours, feeling a bit more at ease with the conversation he’d inevitably have with Sirella once back on Qo’nos. A shadow passed over him and across from him stood Worf in his Starfleet uniform. Martok regarded him and frowned, but gave a sharp nod for the Lieutenant Commander to sit.

Worf waited a moment before lowering himself down to the seat where Drex had been a few hours before, “General, I mean no disrespect, but there is a question I must ask you.”

Martok only nodded for him to proceed.

“Sir, it has been brought to my attention that you had… an _interaction_ with Doctor Bashir.” Worf said, choosing his words delicately because Garak had been very persistent, but also, he wasn’t exactly a reliable source.

Martok nodded and sat up a little straighter, he waved a hand at a passing waiter and the Ferengi skittered off to fetch bloodwine for them both. Martok gave Worf a serious look, “Is that what we call it these days? An interaction?”

Worf shifted uncomfortably, “I was being delicate.”

“You need not be, Son of Mogh, it is true,” Martok admitted.

Worf lifted his head, eyes wide with surprise, “General?”

Martok was slightly amused, and he wanted to discuss this more with Worf; how did humans view sexuality? It was certainly unlike Klingons. In the Empire, it was most common for opposite sex pairs to mate and produce children, however, sometimes these marriages were of political convenience, and each partner would have a lover or series of lovers outside of the marriage. Or, there were same sex pairs, though typically the couples could not reproduce or grow their house to gain political favor. Martok knew a great deal of soldiers, politicians, and commoners who had dalliances on the side with their brothers or sisters in arms, and some could reveal this to their spouse, or had to keep it a guarded secret. Martok knew Sirella sometimes saw another man while he was off-planet for long stretches; it did not bother him. He loved her, and she had needs as any fire-blooded Klingon would. Martok, however, had always prided himself on his fierce loyalty to Sirella. Unfortunately, this captivity had forced him to give in to the wiles of the good doctor.

The waiter delivered their bloodwine, and when the cups set down Martok came back to himself and realized Worf had been waiting patiently. He smiled slightly, “Apologies. I’ve become something of an old man.”

“No apologies are necessary, General,” Worf said gruffly, “Rather, it is _I_ who must apologize for this. I realize that this is a delicate situation.”

Martok nodded because it was that.

“I do need to know,” Worf said, choosing his words very carefully, and Martok thought it interesting how much Worf was like a Klingon but completely unlike a Klingon at the same time, “If this will have any long-term repercussions on the doctor.”

Martok had expected as much, “He need not fear,” the Klingon said, “My house will see no dishonor in it, and if there is any, it will be my burden to bear.”

Worf nodded curtly. They sat and drank for a while. Martok watched the younger Klingon and wondered briefly about how he’d ask. The general knew Worf was aching to get details on the situation, and he had certainly not suspected this when arriving at the Dominion camp. The General and doctor had agreed not to continue once Worf and Garak had joined them.

Worf stood, and Martok grinned at him, choosing to be polite over satisfying his curiosity, “It would help me,” the General said, “to discuss it.”

Worf returned to his seat, and he settled his eyes on the older Klingon and waited.

Martok drank from his fourth glass of bloodwine and wondered the best place to begin. How much of it could he trust Worf with? Many details cut close to his breast and would seem incredibly intimate in their telling. However, even dishonored and exiled from the Empire, Martok regarded Worf as an honorable man who would likely as not spread any rumors or repeat what he was told. In fact, it would be relieving as he would _not_ tell the whole tale to his Sirella or any others. Yes, he decided, he’d tell Worf all of it. From the moment, the doctor arrived to the nights they had shared together to the arrival of Garak which had put an end to their tryst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is about finished and will be updated every other day (or something like that).


	2. Chapter 2

Julian groaned awake with a pounding headache and waved his arm towards where there _had_ been a night table and glass of water. He opened his eyes and realized he was lying on a lumpy, thin mattress on a rickety cot in a large room with four other similar beds. He frowned, sat up slowly, and looked around. This was not the place he had fallen asleep; he was not at the resort where the conference had been taking place. He wondered if this was a dream, and decided to take a look around. When he stood a Klingon with dirty, battered armor and a mangled, scarred left eye stood too. Julian jumped! He hadn't noticed another person until now! He reached for his phaser only to find it was no longer on him.

Martok held up his hands, “Be calm,” he said, “I am not armed.”

“Where have you brought me?” Julian asked and stood a little taller, setting his jaw firm. Martok found it amusing how such a little Terran was trying to intimidate him. Indeed, Julian cut quite an unintimidating, albeit attractive, site in his Starfleet uniform. He was soft looking but had a sort of air about him that Martok appreciated aesthetically.

“I did nothing; I’m a prisoner here as well. You have been brought here by the Dominion.” Martok explained.

Julian’s brow furrowed with confusion, “What do you mean?”

“You and I, and several others are in Barracks 6 on the Dominion Internment Camp 371. We’re somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant with Jem’Hadar soldiers at every corner. I don’t know their reason for capturing you, likely to place a changeling in Starfleet.” Martok explained because he had learned that much in his near three years of captivity.

“…You are General Martok!” Julian exclaimed, “Although, the last time I saw you, you had both eyes.”

“Likely that was my imposter,” the Klingon growled, “A great dishonor. I do not believe we have ever met, you know me, I see or think you do. Who are you?”

“Uh,” Julian tugged at his uniform, a habit to make himself look more presentable, “I’m Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer aboard Deep Space Nine.”

“Ah!” Martok nodded, “I see. My children have been to your station; they say it is very boring outside of the bar.”

“I’ve never seen any Klingon children on the station,” Julian said, looking over the Klingon as if trying to decide if he ought to trust him or not.

“They are _my_ children, but no longer are they properly children. Well, not all of them.” he thought fondly of his youngest son and wondered what he might be up to. The thought left him quickly as the doctor had just taken two steps closer.

“That wound is fresh,” Julian said, observing the bloody mark on Martok’s forearm from his latest bout with Ikat’ika, the Jem'Hadar First who was largely in charge of the camp, “Do you have medical supplies here?”

“Barely,” Martok grunted, “And not a healer among us. Your skills will prove valuable, one of our fellow captives is very ill.”

“Take me to the supplies, and then I’ll see what I can do.” Julian said.

Just like that, Julian banished his concerns and was interested in applying his trade. Martok was impressed by the Terran who readily adapted to the new situation and was already trying to make it better for the prisoners. Martok took him to the small standalone structure across from the barracks. In the main room, they passed where two Jem’Hadar soldiers were standing guard, and two Cardassians and one Romulan were walking around, passing the time. Julian assessed them at a glance and wondered why they were not as battered and bloody as the Klingon who was leading him.

Martok opened the door of the small cabin, and motioned inside, “We are allowed access to these supplies at will. The Vorta which oversees the camp restocks it irregularly.”

Julian did a brief survey, they had two dermal regenerators which were very old models, many bandages, a bottle of liquid medicine that had no label, and organized tablets with labels in a language Julian didn’t know. He put those things away, collected one of the regenerators and many bandages, and hoped that would be enough for whatever was happening. The only other things in the cabin were a few threadbare blankets, lumpy, unclean pillows, and brown cloth that was folded and were likely extra clothes. Martok then lead him back to another set of barracks, Julian guessed their barrack held about ten, maybe twelve, prisoners. He wondered that, if they were the sixth barrack, were there others on the planet or asteroid or _whatever_ it was as well? He didn’t follow this thought as Martok motioned to the man in the corner bed.

Enabran Tain.

Julian’s throat constricted as he _knew_ this would not bode well. Garak’s old teacher, the former master of the Obsidian Order, lay dying on the cot. He was dying, Julian was sure of that. He didn’t care very much, though he knew it would upset Garak if they ever met again and Julian could tell him. He knelt by the old Cardassian anyway, pushing his feelings and bias aside.

“I need you to tell me your symptoms,” Julian said.

Their quiet voices indicated familiarity and a desire for privacy. Martok did not announce it as he left them to whatever this was. He had to rest if he would have any hope of fighting the Jem’Hadar tomorrow.

 

**

The next morning, he saw Julian sleeping not far from him, and noted Sekel, the Romulan Tal Shiar prisoner, sitting at the base of the wall, her back covered the space where Tain would enter the wall. The General hoped today would be the day that the old Cardassian got the damn life support altered and a message sent. Martok noted with some agitation that he was growing old in this place. His joints hurt, but worst of all the daily combat with multiple Jem’Hadar soldiers no longer amused him. He was ashamed of his desire to lay in bed, to avoid the conflict for a time to give himself a moment to rest. Though he would never vocalize this need, likely it was the only thing keeping him alive. He was old, yes, but not foolish.

During his battles, Martok was not able to observe the other prisoners. Even in between bouts he drank the water he was given and planned his next strategy. Every fight had to be different, and Martok was glad to have served so long on many different ships, with many different warriors, so that he had observed a multitude of Klingon forms. If he became predictable, he would be killed, and that was not an option. If there was a changeling in his place, he had no idea how much damage the thing had done to the Empire. There was no room for error on his part; he had to fight now so he could live long enough to return to the Empire.

When the soldiers ceased their training for the day, Martok nearly collapsed. He would have, probably, if the doctor hadn’t rushed to his side to support him. Julian was stronger than he looked and maneuvered Martok out of the training ring and to the barracks. He sat the General down and began to tend to his wounds. Martok allowed himself to doze, inexplicably trusting of this human to attend to him even when he was off guard. When he came around, he was laying down, and Julian was sitting nearby, chewing at the nail on his thumb.

Martok sat up, “How is Tain?” he asked.

Julian turned, surprised maybe by the question, or maybe by Martok's ability to speak despite his exhaustion. Regardless, he answered: “He’s fine. Well, as fine as can be expected. I made him rest today- I don’t care if it takes longer, at this rate he’ll kill himself in that wall.”

Martok grunted his acknowledgment but had no energy to argue the point. He certainly did disagree but found Julian’s empathy endearing. He leaned on the wall and closed his eyes, hoping he might be able to sleep for a few more moments.

“Besides,” he heard Julian say, “The bastard needs to be alive when _he_ gets here.”

Martok knew he wasn’t supposed to hear or understand that, so he didn’t comment.

 

**

The following week was much the same. Julian tended to them, healing cuts and bruises, advising on how Tain might get more work done if he worked in shifts of forty-five minutes, rather than wallowing in the hot walls for hours at a time. Julian proved himself useful to the prisoners, and even the Cardassians and Romulan found themselves accepting his touch when he approached with bandages, or water, or his rations for those that were especially hungry. Julian became much slimmer, seeming almost twig-like and breakable to Martok because he kept giving away more and more of his rations, feeding the Romulan more because, physiologically, she had more dense muscle mass and required more calories than he did.

The doctor grew in a light beard, scratchy dark stubble that covered his jaw and the areas near it, unlike Klingon facial hair which was sparse at their mouths and chins until they became older. Also, his hair was no longer held back from his face with the styling products; they’d long since worn away, rather his hair was loose and tumbled over his forehead. It curled slightly as well, and Martok watched as the good doctor would push it back and huff in irritation when it fell over his eyes. Martok caught himself often looking at the young physician.

He admired Julian's jaw, the shape of his lips, the broad shoulders, and slender hips. He noted how the doctor's legs were impressively long, and how those Terran strides could be almost intimidating when taken in his direction. Julian's good looks were not his only quality, though they were the easiest to notice. The doctor's mannerisms were also admirable. He was kind, always, but firm. He allowed no arguments when Sekel, the only Romulan and female prisoner, tried to refuse his care after a Jem'Hadar had shoved her down and caused her to hit her head. Julian had caught her in a sharp glare and said: "None of that now!" That had been it. Martok had never seen the brash woman so easily calmed, and he was impressed. Even more so, it was evident that two of the four Cardassians regarded him with fear or possibly disgust, knowing Cardassians as he did, Martok suspected it was both. They avoided Julian at all costs but were respectful when words had to be exchanged. Most remarkable was the bite from Enabran Tain, largely Martok observed the old, dying Cardassian was unpleasant, punitive, and full of contempt for everyone in the camp. To Julian, he spoke briskly, but never with rudeness. Martok knew there was a past connection but not what the nature of it had been.

After every battle with the Jem’Hadar, Julian would patch him up, and it was in those lazy conversations that they began to call each other by their given names. That Julian called him Martok with a smile, and Martok smiled back and called him Julian. That was probably when it began. 

When he started to smile at the sight of the young man during the daylight and noticed how hungry he was at night; because those quiet groans _certainly_ weren’t coming from the other prisoners in their barracks. It was selflessness, a sense of duty even at cost to himself. Honor-bound even among enemies. Martok could not help but admire this.

Even further, they would spend the long hours between sleeping and battling having easy conversations. Julian told Martok about Earth, though he didn’t seem very keen on ever returning to that place. He said as much, a mumble of miscommunication with his parents, and self-deprecating smile when Martok pushed it. Julian also listened and seemed to genuinely enjoy hearing the stories of his accomplishments. He would ask for more details about Martok's numerous victories in battle. Martok didn’t think to share much about his family- they weren’t far from his mind- but he was finding a delightful distraction in this young Starfleet officer.


	3. Chapter 3

The days passed slowly with little distinction between them. Martok learned that Julian wasn’t one to be trifled with, which sent a fresh wave of admiration and something much more primal through the General. One of the Jem’Hadar guards had been restless that whole day, his eyes narrowed and searched through the prisoners. He wanted a fight. Martok had seen the look on many Klingons throughout his career, and he was always proud. No, however, he was cautious. This soldier was young; he had only been in the camp for three days which meant he was barely a week old. He still had his black mane of hair which all Jem'Hadar lost by their third week when they were fully matured. Their scales raised like plated armor, their chests barreled, and muscles were finally like thick cords, allowing them to wear light armor in any combat situation. Sitting still did nothing for a Jem’Hadar, especially one eager to prove himself yet placed on guard duty. Julian had observed his restless energy when he first arrived and knew trouble was coming. Martok swore he would handle it should anything happen, but when the soldier made his move, Martok was in the ring fighting another soldier. He saw it out of the corner of his good eye, but he could not leave the bout to handle it or it would mean his death.

The guard marched toward Sekel, his eyes were zoned in on her, one of the only prisoners who did not avert her gaze when the soldiers entered the camp for their daily training. She displayed no fear of them and seemed the most arrogant; that was until shortly before the doctor's arrival. Prior to the last week or so she had often caused such a scene she was taken to isolation for days at a time. However, that was not the case now.

The guard's reasoning for his target selection were unclear, but his intentions obvious, and Julian had to move quickly. Sekel had revealed to him just days ago that she was with child. She had been impregnated by one of the Cardassian men who they were imprisoned with; the fourth who was not of the Order or loyal to Tain. Julian knew that Sekel was Tal Shiar and that she would likely be fine, but his ethics wouldn’t allow a pregnant woman to defend herself against a creature that was genetically created to be an autonomous killing machine. Julian acted without thinking and jerked off a piece of paneling from the wall and ran at the soldier with it. This display of his augmented strength was unintentional, but he could find no other object to use as a weapon. The advancing guard stopped his approach on Sekel and used the blunt end of his polaron rifle to smash Julian in the jaw. The Terran crumpled, but he had the full attention of the young Jem'Hadar guard. Julian pushed himself onto his forearms first, spat blood onto the ground, and then hastily got to his feet. The guard holstered his weapon and withdrew his knife from the hidden pocket of his uniform.

“Enough!” Shouted Ikat’ika as he halted Martok’s battle and approached Julian and the guard. “Reze’rel,” he growled, “Your impudence will not be tolerated again. Return to your post.”

The guard, identified now as Reze’rel, growled, gave both Sekel and Julian a dangerous look but obeyed his First. Ikat’ika then turned to the prisoners, said nothing, and released Martok for the day. Two older Jem’Hadar were placed on guard duty, and the rest left, presumably to go to the other barracks. By now Martok and the others knew there was another, at least one, barrack on the camp. This was because they heard talk of Breen and Markalian amongst the Jem’Hadar soldiers as they waited for fight Martok. Julian speculated they were using the prisoners at the camp to learn about the cultures in the Alpha Quadrant and their defenses. Though, largely that was baseless, aside from keeping Martok alive to learn about Klingons there was no reason Julian and the others hadn’t been killed yet.

 

**

The next day resumed like every other, Tain climbed into the wall, the two Cardassian men from Tain’s guard sat by the panel to hide it. They offered no conversation with anyone but each other and their master. Julian assumed they had been Obsidian Order agents and likely knew his affiliation with Garak. Sekel stayed with the Cardassian she was… seeing? His name was Belor, and he seemed as decent as any Cardassian. Anyway, could it be called dating when living in a prison camp on a remote asteroid? They’d been here long enough in such close quarters Julian thought they might as well be married. At this particular tangent, Martok sighed loudly and said it wasn’t anyone else’s business what label they used. Julian took the hint and dropped it, though he did observe them from a distance. From Garak, he had learned Cardassians adhere to strict courtship rituals and a somewhat archaic concept of propriety. Julian always thought it amusing when Garak questioned the moral code of other species for their blatant displays of affection when, really, it seemed every Cardassian could easily justify homicide. Martok tucked those little comments away for later discussion, Julian was always reluctant to expand on who this Garak was and why Julian knew so many of his opinions.

Today the General told Julian about who used to be in the camp- another Klingon, though he gave no name and no other details. It was too raw a wound to think of how his friend had died at the hands of the Vorta. Though, he did talk about the three other Romulans, all male, who had refused to comply and had been killed. Rather, Martok admitted, the more appropriate word was tortured. Each man had been tortured to death in the center of the barrack by the Vorta who controlled the camp. Julian still hadn’t seen this Vorta. However, they were running low on medical supplies. Already, the first of the two regenerators had died. Tain was getting sicker every day, and the plethora of liquids and tablets were unusable because of their labels.

“I’ll have a word with him once he comes into our barrack,” Julian told Martok one night, frowning from his cot as he pondered over how long one dermal regenerator and a pile of old bandages would last them any time at all.

The Klingon smiled, amused, “He’ll kill you.”

“I don’t care. No one else is interested in keeping us alive.” Julian bit back, “Someone has to shake things up. It might as well be me.”

Martok shook his head, “You’ve got the heart of a warrior, Julian.”

The doctor frowned, “It’s hardly that. This just isn’t fair, and people are suffering for no reason.”

The Klingon had to agree, “It is needless; however, I do not want to see you killed. I don’t know who would keep me company if that were to happen.”

Julian blushed, and Martok could tell even in the dark with only one eye. The doctor didn’t reply and only turned with his back to Martok and pretended to sleep. The General chuckled and turned over to sleep as well.

 

**

The following day, early in the morning before the others woke, Martok went to speak with Enabran Tain. The old Cardassian would tell him very little, though he did dance around knowing Julian.

"He's an acquaintance of an acquaintance," Tain said. Martok had very few acquaintances and knew none of the people they might consider an acquaintance. It seemed a very vague way to say that the doctor was more in Tain's fold than either liked to admit.

"This mutual friend is aboard the space station," Martok said because one did not  _a_ _sk_ a Cardassian unless they wanted lead around by the nose.

"The one who will receive our transmission," Tain admitted. That, of itself, was a significant bit of information. Martok only nodded and assumed that this person they did not want to name was Julian's Garak. And, judging by Tain's dismissal, there was even more to it than that.

When he stepped out to the main room, he saw that Reze’rel was on guard duty and he seemed just as agitated as the day before. His fingers a bit too twitchy to make the prisoners able to find even a false comfort. Today, the doctor took up a place near the fighting ring and watched the guards. He knew Martok would make it through and at the end of the training, he’d be able to patch the Klingon up. However, he didn’t trust any Jem’Hadar who seemed to struggle with just standing still. Julian _knew_ the Jem’Hadar were exceptional when it came to withstanding unpleasant positions, or directions from their First’s. Sometimes conflict arose, but the chain of command was strict, and disobeying that hierarchy resulted often in death. Reze’rel was young, later Julian would say he reminded him very much of the young soldier they’d had on board the station, eager to fight and always angry.

Reze’rel noticed the doctor looking at him and growled, “Watch yourself, Terran!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Julian replied easily, watching as some of the other soldiers turned to look at Reze’rel.

Again, the young guard broke ranks and marched over. Julian got up, he took several steps away, his body on high alert as Reze’rel was suddenly breathing in his face, “I could _kill_ you!”

“Why don’t you, then?” Julian shouted back, and before he could do anything, the Jem’Hadar had his hands around Julian’s throat. His vision faded in and out twice before suddenly there was the sound of a phaser. The hands were instantly gone, and Reze’rel was nowhere to be seen, but Ikat’ika was snarling at the doctor, “You are proving to be a problem.” He said, and turned to one of his soldiers, “Place him in isolation.”

 

**

Isolation was a tiny, cold cabin just outside of the barracks. It, too, had it's own life support system. Unfortunately, that had been modified to produce barely enough oxygen for a single humanoid. Julian stayed in there, cramped, for two days before he was released.

 

**

Julian came stumbling into the barracks, shoved by the brick-like hand of a Jem'Hadar. He was starving near to death, and desperate for more than half a breath. The oxygen deprivation and malnutrition were the reasons he was trembling from head to foot. Isolation certainly triggered this reaction, but it was not the sole benefactor. Julian had been struggling with his health since arrival at the camp. 

Martok caught his tiny human as he fell, and carried him to the barracks. The Klingon made sure Julian ate and drank, and Sekel or Belor sat with him as Martok fought the Jem’Hadar. At night Julian shook from a fever and Martok couldn't sleep because he was reminded of his wife and his children and being home where one could lay sick and not fear a dishonorable death. Martok was glad for the darkness of the barrack so no one saw his fingers as they gently stroked through Julian's hair. No one heard him rumbling quietly in  _Tlhlngan Hol_ to soothe the doctor. No one caught the glimmer of tears or quiet gasps from the doctor as he struggled all night long. The next day Martok, Sekel, and Belor gave a portion of their rations to Julian, and he ate them without argument. That night he slept much more comfortably, and Martok was glad for it.

Another day had passed before Julian had regained enough strength to sit up and move about the barracks. The guards kept a closer eye on him after that. And the General, well, he knew exactly what he wanted to do to the Terran now. He knew exactly what it was he was feeling and thinking about without putting it into words or action. Supple muscles, soft, tan skin under his dark, heavy hands. He banished the thought, trying to replace the coy doctor with an image from the night he spent weeping on the cot. It didn't work. Martok thought of a much better way to make Julian weep.

 

**

The third time that Julian picked a fight with their captives Martok felt like he had suddenly obtained an eleventh  _puq_. What now? He thought as the human strode purposefully across the barrack to the soldiers. This time it was much more blatant a level of disrespect; at best a lapse in judgment, at worst a suicide attempt.

Julian marched up to Ikat’ika and demanded more medical supplies or at least a tricorder so he could help Tain who lay anguishing in the back barrack with the two nameless Cardassians. The First was so surprised by this display he didn’t respond right away. In fact, every Jem'Hadar and non-Bashir prisoner stood in shock of this, especially when Julian's arms folded over his chest. It lasted briefly because then the First had to respond. He raised only one hand and smacked Julian across the face with the back of it. When Julian fell, his lip split, crimson blood dribbling down his chin, the Jem’Hadar began to kick him. Ikat'ika was a skilled warrior, he was old for the Jem'Hadar and had a concept of honor that Martok appreciated when he wasn't busy hating him. Now, the First displayed this by focusing the kicks on Julian's ribs and stomach, knowing this would not kill but would certainly stop the foolish Terran from ever thinking he had the right to behave so outrageously. When the beating ended Julian lay curled in the fetal position, dirty with dust from the Jem'Hadars boots, not making a sound. Ikat'ika growled at his Second and pointed to the doctor.

Again, he was put in isolation for two days to starve and nearly asphyxiate. This time, he also got to enjoy having a potential fracture on his ribs, and definite bruising along his torso and abdomen. There was no internal bleeding, and he was thankful for small favors.

When he was returned to the barracks he didn’t let Martok wrap him up and comfort him. Instead, he growled out, “We need to find a _quicker_ way to escape.”

Martok looked upon him with fondness and exasperation. Despite that, he listened as the doctor spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tlhlngan Hol, the traditional language of the Klingons.  
> Puq, child.


	4. Chapter 4

“You told me,” Julian said that night over the rations Martok had saved for him, “that this asteroid used to be a mine for the Dominion.”

“It was,” Martok agreed, “But that doesn’t mean anything. The only way to escape is by sending out a signal to- to whomever it is Tain sent it to.” He was reasonably confident Julian knew Garak would receive the transmission, but since they never spoke of it, he decided to remain discreet as well.

“That’s not very Klingon!” Julian snapped at him, glaring at the General. Martok responded with a glare of his own, and Julian continued, “Do you trust them? The Cardassians?”

“We have a mutual goal. Cardassians may not be an honorable race, but they are selfish, and I am sure he will send a distress signal that will result in our rescue.” Martok said.

“So, that’s it? We just sit here, and Sekel can have her baby here, and you can fight them until they inevitably kill you, and I’ll just keep getting starved every time I try to fix this situation!” Julian’s voice was loud, and Martok had to slap a hand over his mouth and growl at him.

Julian gave him a pathetic look from around his hand. Martok felt a surge of pleasure at how easy it had been to silence the doctor. He reveled in it a moment before slowly removing his hand, then put on his most disappointed look to use while scolding the doctor.

“Be _silent_!” he demanded, “You are a foolish _puq_ if you think the guards won’t come in here and kill you!”

Julian dropped his voice to a whisper, “I would rather be killed for being noisy than watch us all continue to waste away. This is stupid! There must be mines inside the asteroid, and if there are mines there’s a way to get into them!”

“How would you have us do that?” Martok asked quietly, though he couldn’t deny the intrigue. He hadn’t expected a Federation doctor to be the one suggesting a prison break. Traditionally, doctors and Federation personnel weren’t usually courageous or willing to resolve problems with confrontation, no matter how indirect.

Julian frowned, “We’ll need to tell the others.”

On that, Martok could not argue.

Later, under cover of night they went to the others to explain the plan: search for any kind of hollow panel or weak space that might let them dig into the asteroid and hopefully find one of the tunnels within. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than sitting and waiting for death to claim them. They met in the barracks where Tain lay on his death bed and spoke in hushed voiced. The old Cardassian and his two cohorts didn't speak, merely they observed and listened.

Eventually, Tain said that he was nearly able to send his message, he swore it would be done in at least two days. That was too long. Longer still, it would take time to reach the Alpha Quadrant. Julian knew that even if Garak could decode it, he’d need to pull a good trick to get a runabout and come out here to fetch them. And, Julian said to Tain, there was a small chance he’d even make it another two days in that wall. He shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone undergoing so much stress inside of a small space. Tain agreed they would need a distraction, and the breakout would buy them that much. Just a little more time to work before he succumbed to this illness.

It was agreed.

Together, everyone but Tain and Martok scoured the camp for a place where they might reach the asteroid’s surface from within the compound. They had to be subtle because the Jem'Hadar were watching them from their posts. Fortunately, they found the captivity just as dull, so they didn't seem to question why Belor was walking around, nudging at the ground with the toes of his boot. Or, why Sekel was on her knees by the perimeter, scanning the asteroid beyond their barrack. After a few hours, they found it inside the supply cabin! The cabin had been built on top of the turf, unlike the rest of the barracks which had plated metal floors that seemed unlikely to come up.

The location of the escape route was a blessing as it was the most underutilized place on the barrack, but it was also close enough to the entrance that they could easily be discovered. Blasting through the ground would not be a silent affair, and more likely than not it would alert the soldiers who would probably kill the person attempting to escape. As they pondered this, Sekel reprogrammed their only dermal regenerator to emit a concentrated blast. This would likely erode through a few feet of stone at a time. She couldn't guarantee it's effectiveness as the composition of the stone would change the blasts efficiency. They’d have to hope luck was on their side for this; many variables that would render the escape impossible. Most pressing what if there would even be a mining tunnel near to the surface in exactly that spot.

There were many different viewpoints on this. The morning before the escape they sat together again and argued.

“It isn’t impossible,” Belor said, his hand on Sekel’s knee, his arm reaching across her stomach, “It’s not a very large asteroid, we can assume it was thoroughly mined, or the Dominion wouldn't have repurposed it. The problem is that the phaser will be loud when it hits the rock. We can’t have any of the Jem’Hadar noticing.”

Julian wanted to tell Martok that Belor's body language indicated a more serious relationship. He wanted to tell Martok that the two probably considered themselves married, or something equally binding. Now was not the time, though, so he logged it away to share later.

“A distraction for the distraction,” Tain sighed from his bed, “will the infernal problems never end?”

“…We could provide that,” said one of Tain’s men, and the other nodded, “It would not be difficult if we were to engage the two guards in combat. They would immediately subdue us, and then take us to isolation. It would leave the barracks empty for a little while.”

Martok grunted, “It is as good a plan as any. Who shall do the digging?”

“I will,” Julian said firmly, “It’s my plan, and it’s likely whoever they catch in the mines will be killed.”

Martok frowned, “I will go with you.”

“That leaves a dying old man, a coward of a Cardassian, and a pregnant Romulan here to suffer their wrath,” Tain said.

“Cooperate,” Julian shrugged, “Tell them we’re doing this on our own and that you objected. They won’t harm _you_ if they haven’t yet.”

“I’d just as well take the risk,” Sekel said to Tain, “It’s our best chance until you can send the transmission.”

"Unfortunately, sir," added the second of Tain's men, "That can't be done until you can be in the wall uninterrupted."

"Then it seems I have no choice." Tain sighed.

It was agreed, that night Martok and Julian hid in the supply cabin while the other two Cardassians charged their captors. The fight ended quickly, and the distraction worked exacly as they had planned. The guards beat them down, and each took one by the arm and dragged them out of the barracks leaving it empty. Once they were gone, Julian gave the signal, and Martok turned on the modified regenerator. It shot through the rock in pulses, disintegrating and crumbling one layer after another.

It was working!

After several minutes the rock caved in, they looked down into the dark tunnel when suddenly a cold gust of air rushed up towards them. Martok laughed and blasted through the final layers into the space below. Julian nodded, “I’ll go first,” he said and shimmied his slim hips through the opening.

“It opens to a ledge above a tunnel,” Julian said, “It goes on in both directions, but the air is coming from the right.”

“Go that way, then,” Martok agreed. He removed his armor as it would be too wide for the small opening. It took a few kicks to the edges to make the hole wide enough that he could crawl through. He pulled the panels from the shed back over the hold and crawled along the tunnel behind Julian.

There was almost no space between the two of them as they crawled through the tunnel. They were both straining to listen for any signs of cave-ins, or life, or something that would sabotage this escape plan. Or diversion. Or whatever it was they were doing. If they did find a way out of these tunnels, they likely would have to steal a Jem’Hadar ship and get reinforcements to save the others. It was a daunting task that, Julian thought, could be handled as it transpired. Martok did not believe this would pan out as Julian imagined- they’d likely be shot and killed once the Jem’Hadar found them. Both men were painfully aware of the other as they carefully made their way through the tunnel, the small space was cool from the breeze, but both were beginning to feel distinctly warmer.


	5. Chapter 5

Martok watched the sway of Julian’s bottom as they crawled, and he tried to ignore the tightening in his trousers. He thought of Sirella. He thought of her proud chin, the tilt of her head exposing a long, vulnerable neck. A neck she dared him to defile, and he never was brave enough to do so. He thought of her body which he knew extremely well after having conceived ten children. She was so strong, and he knew it every time they laid together because she never gave him anything without a fight, he earned the right to enter her body after proving himself worthy. He could trace the ridges of her abdomen with his eyes closed, following the firmed, honey-comb muscles down to the treasure trove between her legs.

Then, he thought of how his beloved sometimes had another warrior she saw for copulation when he was away for very long stretches of time. This he never begrudged her. He knew she would not be upset if he gave into the urge and ravished the good doctor. She was honorable and fair; she would understand his situation. However, he had always prided himself on his loyalty to her. Sex had never been his primary motivation; Martok loved Sirella because she was as cunning and strong as he was, she was beautiful and dangerous, and no one ever crossed her. Certainly, they enjoyed the act of it; ten honorable children, a strong house, a strong bond. She would not be upset; it had been almost three years since he allowed himself this. If the doctor were willing, he would not mind pursuing it.

He imagined telling her. She'd tilt her chin and smile, lips curling over blunt teeth, and she'd say: "Was it good, my Kahles?" and the fire would burn in his blood hotter than it burned now. Then his mind turned to the doctor, appealing for different reasons, their skin similar in tone, but the doctor was soft where she was firm. The doctor gave his smiles away and asked very little. Julian had proven to be a man of honor, and one who enticed Martok just as much, but very differently, than his wife. He decided then that when they stopped, he would suggest it to the doctor.

He decided then that when they stopped, he would suggest it to the doctor.

 

**

Julian came to the cavern first and laughed as he gracefully hopped down from the tunnel, “It’s huge,” he said, and even though he spoke softly, it sounded loud in the cavern. “Oh, look! There’s even a supply cache,” he said striding towards the box and rags in the corner of the cavern.

Martok struggled to edge over the tunnel and down, even without his armor he was not nearly as lithesome as the human. He watched as Julian pushed the top off and plunged his hand into the alleged supply cache, chattering without end as he did so.

“Look at all of this dust! It's a good thing neither of us is ill right now; I haven't got any supplies with me. Well, maybe there'll be something in here. It certainly is a big box, there's a blanket and some- hmm-“ Julian held up two rocks, “Rocks. We’ve got two rocks, and old dirty blanket, and an empty box. Well, I suppose we've hit the lottery with this one.”

His tone implied the human mechanism of sarcasm, and Martok didn't bother to inquire further. He walked over to the human and took the rocks from his hands.

When the General struck them together, there was a spark! He nodded and said to Julian, “They’re for starting a fire, at least.” Then, he kicked the box the brittle wood of it fell to pieces. “It is better than nothing. We can rest, eat a small bit of the rations, and then follow the breeze. There are several other tunnels from here.”

Julian agreed and unpacked their few rations, barely enough for the effort, really. Soon they had a fire, and Julian was happy to be somewhere else for the first time in nearly two weeks. He hoped Tain had sent the message. He desperately wanted to lay down in his bed on the station and sleep for a week. His dark eyes lifted to Martok who was staring through the fire at him.

Julian smiled and gave a short laugh, and before he could catch himself, he said, “You look like Garak.”

“Your Cardassian partner,” Martok observed, surprised Julian had let his guard down.

Julian blushed, “How did you work that out?”

“A Klingon sees much but says little,” Martok replied with an old proverb which made the doctor pull a sour face. Martok laughed and explained, “You speak very fondly of him, even though you’ve never told me his name directly. He's on your mind as you sleep, and in your eyes when you look at Tain. You are dedicated to him, you could have had anyone in the camp, but you chose not to pursue a partner. You must be very loyal.”

Julian was quiet for a while, “I can’t be loyal to a man I’m not with,” he sat up straighter, “Garak and I have been flirting for three years now. That's all, though.”

Martok raised his eyebrows, surprised, “That long?”

The doctor could only shrug, “I don’t know. We’re not very good at talking about it. We just sort of… go with it. We bicker and have lunches, and it's never really gone further. Not officially. Everyone sort of knows. I've slept with other people in that time, and I'm pretty sure he’s seeing the Cardassian woman on the ship. It’s a mess.”

Martok waited for the mood to pass before he decided to take a chance, “So you’re….” he searched for a Federation word that would convey his meaning, or maybe something Ko'tar had once used, “Available?”

Something danced in the doctor's eyes before he stood and walked over to the Klingon, “I’m available,” he said, going to his knees and leaning toward the General.

Martok reached up and grabbed the back of Julian’s neck pulling him in for a hard kiss. The doctor responded by pushing, so their torsos were together, his slender arms looped around Martok’s neck and squeezed. The General opened his mouth, and Julian did the same, welcoming the each others tongue, though when Martok bit down on his soft lips, Julian gasped, surprised when the sharp fangs drew blood. They looked at each other, then grinned, spurred on by the newness of a different species to explore.

Hastily, Julian shed his uniform and under things. Martok marveled at the softness of his body, the absence of defined muscles and ridges. There was just a smattering of hair over Julian’s small chest, and a trail of it that lead down to an untamed bundle sitting at the base of his erection. Martok took the shaft into his hand and stared at how easily it fit in his palm, there was a bit more than that, hiding under the hair. Still, it was not as large as a Klingon erection. The General gave it a tug, and Julian whined, his cock was dry, so Martok spit into his palm before taking the shaft in hand again. There was a slide this time, and Martok got into a natural rhythm, stroking Julian until his cock was leaking prettily. Martok used the precome to slick Julian’s cock as well. His meaty thumb and forefinger pinched the head, and Julian gave breathy little moans each time, both of his hands braced over the corded muscles of Martok’s chest.

Julian allowed this just a moment longer, then pushed off Martok’s clothes, shifting closer to kiss again. Blood ran down Julian’s chin from where Martok had bitten him. Once Martok was naked as well, Julian began to grind his erection over the hard plane of Martok’s thigh. The Klingon laughed, and gave Julian’s backside a smack, “Are all humans this wanton?” he asked. The sound of skin on skin filled the cavern, Julian's little whines for more followed, and the growl Martok gave him made the stone walls quiver.

Julian huffed once he came to himself and abruptly bit Martok’s bottom lip, “Don’t tease me or you’ll see just how _wanton_ I can get.”

Martok grinned, and Julian did not take the mocking tone of it well. He pushed the Klingon suddenly, and Martok fell against the wall of the cavern. Julian climbed over top of him and began to kiss his neck, chest, downwards until he could bite at the firm nipples on the General’s chest. Martok’s moan rumbled through the stone again. Julian’s breath hitched when a strong hand caught his hair and pushed him down lower. Julian kissed down the muscle of the General’s body, licking and nipping as his mouth was guided to the firm cock between Martok’s thighs.

Julian took a moment of purely scientific interest to study Martok’s cock; it was unlike any he had ever seen. Of course, he’d seen anatomical photographs and knew to expect the distinctive Klingon ridges to continue down the length of it. Though he was pleased to see the quivering edges of the membrane which would expand and create the knot that would hold Martok's come inside Julian for ten minutes after he reached completion. Julian gave an experimental lick to the head, but then Martok held his head still and pushed in. It took Julian a moment to hollow his cheeks and adjust to the right angle, allowing the General to fuck his mouth with increasingly desperate thrusts. Julian was groaning behind Martok’s erection, both hands squeezed the sharp hips of the other man, bracing for each thrust. Martok soon stopped, and nudged him off, “Lay down,” he growled.

Julian obeyed, stretching out on the stone ground and smiled, he spread his legs and intended to do so slowly, but then Martok grabbed his knees and nearly folded him in half. Julian gasped and dug his elbows into the stone, “Be careful!” he demanded.

Martok laughed, “You’re not in charge here, doctor,” he smiled.

Julian pouted up at the Klingon, “And here I thought you Klingons were honorable.”

They kissed, and Julian soon felt Martok’s lips replaced by his fingers. Julian slicked three of them with his saliva and felt the first gently pressing against the ring of muscle at his arse. The doctor shifted slightly, exhaling as Martok pushed in up to the first knuckle, then the second, and finally the third. He gently curled to brush against Julian’s prostate, and the doctor let out a sharp moan, his hips jerking at the sudden sensation. Martok carefully worked that finger in and out before adding a second. Julian was whining, his body quivering with exertion; he was expending much more energy than usual, and that wasn’t necessarily wise given how hungry he always was.

As Martok stretched him, the Klingon was bent over Julian, his free hand holding Julian’s wrists over his head. The doctor was whining under him, pushing down to meet each crook of the Klingon’s fingers, “Please please please,” he gasped quietly. Martok couldn’t deny how his cock twitched at the soft begging. He didn’t want to push in yet, so he slid their cocks together. Julian sobbed and began to twist his hips, “I’m ready!” he said, “Martok, please!”

With such insistence, the General couldn’t wait, and he withdrew his fingers and lined up. Julian was looking at him with eyes only half open, his body shivering with need. Martok pushed inside of his partner and waited until he adjusted. Julian was moaning wantonly once more, loud enough that it reverberated off the walls again and made them both fall quiet so that all they were surrounded by was the slick sound of skin slapping, their sharp gasps with each deep thrust.

Julian was nearly bent in half, and could not move away. Martok released his wrists and grabbed Julian’s leaking prick. He began to jerk the doctor off in time with his thrusts. Julian’s hands were now on Martok’s shoulders, squeezing the muscles there, digging crescent-shaped rivets in with his nails. Each thrust brought them closer and, unexpectedly, Julian came. The convulsion of his body around Martok’s dick made the Klingon gasp, and suddenly he came as well and even knotted deep inside of Julian. The knot was suddenly filling him, and Julian screamed with his orgasm as it rocked through him.

Martok, this being his first orgasm in several years, briefly lost his vision. He couldn’t even bother to care that he had knotted. He bundled the doctor closer and held him tight. Julian was whining, his body unaccustomed to the feeling of a knot. He held on tight to Martok as the general stroked his side and flank, “It will be over soon,” he said quietly, “Lay still.”

Julian obeyed, and after a few moments seemed to settle, he smiled at Martok, “That was something,” he said, pleased.

Martok laughed, “What is it you Federation types are always saying? To boldly go?”

Julian gasped, and his face went red, “Don’t _do_ that! Bring in my career and life philosophy when I’m laying freshly fucked with a Klingon knot deep inside of me on a prison asteroid in a remote part of the galaxy.”

Martok chuckled, “It sounds like you’ve boldly gone alright. That’s a story.”

“One to rival that of Kirk’s, I imagine,” Julian said, pleased with himself for having such an erotic and thrilling story to share. One day, maybe.

“Who?” Martok asked.

“A Starfleet Captain from a hundred years ago, or so,” Julian said, “He’s a legend.”

“So, I see,” Martok said, “Would you like to do this again?”

“Not right now!” Julian replied, alarmed, “It’s amazing I’m awake now!”

“I meant _if_ we survive the Jem’Hadar capturing us and placing us back in prison.” Martok replied.

“This is lovely pillow talk,” Julian replied dryly.

“We haven’t got any pillows,” The General countered, his grin reaching his eyes, which made Julian blush all the more.

“You’re the worst.” The doctor remarked, mortified, “I didn’t know you were like this. I’ve never heard you make a bad joke in all the time we’ve been on this asteroid! I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew this was going to happen in the afterglow!”

“You’ve never seen me let my guard down,” Martok said. Julian was going to respond, but Martok felt his knot deflate, and with a final, teasing thrust that made Julian squeal when he withdrew from him.

They cleaned themselves up using the undershirt Julian had then dressed again. They laid down, close but not touching near the fire which had nearly gone out. Julian turned towards the Klingon and breathed a soft sigh, “I don’t think this is going to get us killed,” he said.

“You’re a Federation optimist,” Martok replied, his eye closed, “But I hope you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to anyone who read this before I got to fix it. The repeated dialogue has been edited.


	6. Chapter 6

When they woke, they located the breeze once more. It was coming steadily from a larger tunnel, this one was tall and wide enough that they could easily walk and follow it. Though on occasion Martok had to turn his body and stoop to make a turn or shift from ledge to ledge. Julian was so slender he had no trouble maneuvering the tunnel. After a fashion, they grew hungry and stopped for another bite or two of rations. Julian was impressed they had made it this long without the meal; after the night they had they both sorely needed the calories. Their exploration continued and lasted what was probably a full day. Martok nudged the human and raised his eyebrows in a sort of come-hither look, but Julian said he couldn't have sex that night.

"Your Cardassian?" Martok asked.

Julian shook his head, "No, my body hurts still and I'm tired."

Martok looked the doctor up and down, trying to see if he was lying or not. He didn't believe the excuses, but he also knew very little about Terran physiology. Also, he wasn't going to coerce Julian into having sex again if he didn't want to.

Julian couldn't stand the way Martok was eyeing him, and the doctor was certain Martok saw through the excuse. He did hurt, but that wasn't why he was deflecting the situation. Julian squirmed uncomfortably where he sat.

"Alright!" The doctor finally sighed, "Fine. Fine. It's.. last night you asked if we might do this again."

"Oh." Martok replied, it was inelegant, but he suddenly saw where this conversation was going.

"I'm...." Julian searched for the words, "I've been keeping a lot of secrets, from everyone, for a long time now. I don't think I'm  _capable_ of giving you more than just last night."

"Because of your secrets?" Martok asked, assessing the doctor's body language. He looked tense and uncomfortable and was too far away. Klingon's were the sort of loud sex, rancorous parties, and proud, declarations of intent. But, they were also fiercely protective of what was theirs and Martok felt Julian certainly was  _his_.

"Yes. I don't want you to learn them." Julian said.

Martok nodded, "That I do not mind. But you are lying about the Cardassian not being part of your reasoning."

"I am. That's a secret too." Julian replied, his tone short and firm and allowing no argument.

What could the General do? He was not going to argue or bully Julian into talking about things he wasn't ready to discuss. The human didn't need that. Instead, he shifted closer and pulled the human to his side. Julian went easily, probably desiring the touch as much as Martok was. They had both been alone for a very long time.

That night they laid close to each other as they slept.

Unfortunately, they were far too close to what had been the entrance of the mine.

They woke to an explosion that literally sent a crack through the ledge they'd been sleeping on. They got up, stumbled, and barely made it before the tunnel seemed to crumble away behind them.

Once the Jem’Hadar broke down the entrance it took them only a hour to locate the escapees. Martok threw himself at the guards, he had no weapons but managed to take a blaster from a soldier he incapacitated. He shot until the machine ran out of power, killing several guards even as they rushed through the tunnel. It was too narrow for them to manage a group assault and Martok had the advantage of picking them off one at a time.

The soldiers climbed over top of each other, gaining more closure, and the soldier behind them shot at the roof of the tunnel, causing the stone to fall down and build up behind Martok. His back hit the wall of the collapsed tunnel and he used the weapon as an improvised club, bludgeoning the Jem'Hadar until their skulls cracked and blood oozed out. He did this to four of them. Even when they surrounded him he was not going to allow them to cow him. He would die here- a final stand for freedom- and be welcomed into the Hall of _Sto'vo'kor_! Another skull burst under the weight of his club, he threw his head back and howled, the sound echoing in the tunnel.

"Stop!" A voice rang out, "Or he will die."

Martok looked up and saw a soldier had Julian by the collar of his shirt, a dagger to his slender neck. There was a faint line of red, indicating the soldier had already started to press the blade to Julian's throat. The human was bloodied and bruised; he had fought well but was inevitably overpowered by the Jem'Hadar. Just like that, the General knew he'd have to fight another day. His desire for battle had made him forget the doctor. The Jem'Hadar subdued him and tied his wrists to his back, and he was hoisted towards Julian.

They were both dragged to the camp. However, they were taken directly to Deyos, the Vorta overseer. His office was not far from isolation, it was a small cabin with a bit more comfortable furniture than was in the camp itself. Julian observed that Deyos looked like all other Vorta they had seen, pale, with violet eyes and elongated ears. He wasn’t necessarily frightened, however, knew that was probably a symptom of prolonged captivity in a hostile situation more than it was a sign of bravery. Deyos observed them critically, “Which of you,” he said, “hatched this little scheme?”

Before Martok could speak up, Julian stepped forward, “I did. I accept full responsibility for the entire affair. Martok and the others tried to talk me out of it, but I was insistent.”

Deyos looked at Martok, “Put him in isolation.” The guard grabbed him and dragged the struggling Klingon out, leaving Julian alone with Deyos.

 

**

Even in isolation Martok heard what Deyos did to Julian. It was impossible to ignore the singing as an energy-whip cut through the air. First, there was the sound of the impact, like a sharp blade against soft skin, a whisper of a cut. Then there was a grunt as Julian felt the pain. As the whip continued to fall on the Terran’s back the grunts became yelps or gasps, and eventually screams. Julian’s screams hung in the air even after the punishment stopped. Martok knew they were doing more to Julian, but from his place in isolation he could hear and see nothing.

Martok was able to count the days he was in isolation by the times he heard the whip slicing over Julian's back. It was three days.

On the third day, Julian didn’t make a sound and Martok wondered if he had died from the punishment. His blood boiled from the very thought of it; a noble Terran like Julian meeting his death at the hands of the Dominion in the middle of nowhere! Martok attempted to break down the door to isolation but couldn’t; the limited supply of oxygen kept him from doing much but listening and hoping to hear something. Anything that might indicate Julian was alive.

 

**

The morning of the fourth day, Martok was released and he saw Julian. The doctor was tied to a post in the center of the baraks, his uniform at his waist, his back bare and bloody with the crossing strokes from the whip. He wondered why no one had gone to him yet, and assumed it meant the worst. He approached, bracing for what he’d find, expecting no pulse he was shocked to feel it steady at the Terran’s throat. Martok touched his arm, and the doctor started away, his eyes red and raw from crying, his cheeks sticky with the residue. He may have been hurt, possibly even had his will broke, but he was alive.

“I’m taking you down,” Martok said quietly, and gently untied Julian from the post, then lead him slowly to the barracks. Julian’s breathing hitched, but he said nothing. Even once he was laid down he didn’t whimper or whine as Martok cleaned the wounds at his back and bandaged them. They didn’t have any way to regenerate the skin, and likely it would scar unless they could get to a real medical facility soon. That night, Martok kissed over the healing wounds, and in the shadows, if Julian wept, the General certainly didn’t take notice.

 

**

 The next morning, he left Julian to sleep as he went to fight the Jem’Hadar again in one on one combat. He fought with a renewed vigor that made it difficult for the soldiers, and delighted Ikat’ika. Once the battle was done, rations were given out and the others finally came out from the other set of barracks. Sekel was still pregnant, though Martok did not see Belor, and the two Cardassian’s who worked for Tain emerged as well, taking enough for three and leaving. Martok looked the Romulan over.

“Belor?” he asked, hoping the Cardassian was just sleeping or in isolation.

She shook her head, “The guards tore the barrack apart when you two were gone. They nearly found Tain in the wall and Belor stopped them. He was able to kill one of them. When they were prowling, he shoved a sharpened piece of metal through its head. Unfortunately, they killed him for that.” She sighed and both hands were over her stomach, “Tain sent the message, though. I don’t know if that’s cause for celebrating, but, I’m hopeful.”

Martok nodded, though he did not feel remorse at the loss of Belor. It was unlikely the pair would have stayed together anyway once rescued. Still, the Cardassian had died an honorable death and had protected them all while doing so. Martok offered her his rations and went to feed Julian whatever he could manage.

 

**

A week of this solemn air passed and gradually Julian began to move about again. He didn’t flinch away from the Jem’Hadar, but he did spend a great deal of time with Tain. It was only a matter of time until he passed away. Even if a runabout arrived now and rescued them Tain would not have a chance of making it out of the Gamma Quadrant. The prisoners seemed well and truly subdued, and no one expected what would come next. In fact, had Martok known what Julian was planning he’d have made sure it hadn’t happened at all.

When the Jem’Hadar came in one morning, it had been just over a month of Julian’s captivity, the Terran marched up to Ikat’ika, “We need more rations,” he said.

The Jem’Hadar First gave Martok a long-suffering look. It would have been amusing had he not followed that by shoving Julian to the ground on his back. Unlike the last time, he did not begin to kick, instead he placed his foot over Julian’s chest and pressed down. Julian screamed and Martok was restrained by the others.

“Doctor,” Ikat’ika said, “When will you learn this is a prison? You people have no respect for order and that is what the Founders are trying to give you.”

“Damn the Founders!” Julian growled, “And damn you! We need more food! We’re all going to starve to death in here!”

Ikat’ika leaned on Julian again, causing the human to scream and kick and struggle to get away. The First let off the pressure and stood back, “Very well. If you defeat our youngest soldier then we will give you more food.”

 Julian nodded his acceptance. Martok shook his head, “They will kill you!” he shouted, “You’re being foolish!"

Julian ignored him and accepted the knife he was given. He’d never used a knife before, but he was a quick study. It would come to him after a moment if he could stay alive that long. Then, his opponent approached. The Jem'Hadar soldier was very young. He still had long, black hair and reminded Julian _so much_ of the Jem’Hadar child Odo had tried to rehabilitate. He realized he could not do this. He could not fight an actual child. Even if the soldier was technically a man in their eyes, he’d probably been born just last week! Unfortunately, the young Jem’Hadar had no such qualms and held out his own knife and stooped into a crouching position.

They began to circle each other, the grown Jem’Hadar laughing, and Martok cursing were the background sounds to the fight. Even that was washed out by the blood pounding in his ears as Julian imitated his opponent. They were cautious a moment, but then the young soldier lunged forward, and Julian barely was able to scrambled from the edge of the blade. He was chased, and narrowly avoided a fatal blow twice. Julian rounded on his adversary and swiped, and his blade cut the fresh scales of the child.

“Ah!” The Jem’Hadar gasped and drew his hand to his chest. Julian thought he might have a moment to exploit, but the child locked eyes and Julian realized he had been tricked. The next moment was a blur, but he was certainly stabbed. Though the wound sunk only into his thigh, the doctor did fall to the ground.

“Enough, Iku’gomn!” Ikat’ika said, “Take this foolish human to isolation. The Vorta does not want him dead yet.”

Growling at the lack of a kill, the young Jem’Hadar dragged Julian to isolation and threw him inside.

“Well?” Ikat’ika said to Martok and the others, “Your hero isn’t very impressive anymore, is he?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, thank you all for your support! Hits, kudos, and comments were extremely satisfying. You're all amazing!

Martok sighed and lifted his remaining eye to Worf who was sitting across him stoic as ever, unwilling to reveal how invested he had become in the tale. The General waved his hand vaguely through the air, “You know the rest. When you arrived Julian pretended to be fine, he didn’t want anyone to worry about him.”

The warriors lapsed into a long silence. Worf contemplated the story as he knew it now; it reminded him of the operas he loved. There was honor and heroism in the actions of both men; there was romance in its way, the story was very exciting, almost an idealized version of being imprisoned. Very romantic, he had to admit as he mulled over the more subtle details. He watched the General from over the table and knew that this was not the man he had confronted ages ago on the station, which had been a changeling. Still, he now he felt like he knew the General as if they had been old friends for many years. Martok had been so honest in his telling of the tale; his face wore the expressions of happiness, irritation, and fondness. Emotions Worf knew the doctor could pull out of nearly everyone with his earnest and sometimes juvenile antics. He imagined them, not together, but in another setting. Another time or place.

At length, Worf said, “It is worthy of at least one opera, sir.”

Martok agreed, “It is, that.”

Again, they sat in silence. The spell lifted from Worf, and he cleared his throat: “Did you two discuss this?” he asked. He had a duty to the station and its crew.

Martok smiled, “Who are you trying to protect, Worf? Me or the good doctor?”

“No one,” Worf said, “But it is important you both know what to, or what not to, expect from one another.”

Martok nodded, “It was handled. He came to me the first night of your arrival and said he did not wish for anyone to know- about anything. I did not say a word until you implied knowing the whole sordid affair.”

“I did no such thing.” Worf argued, “Garak told me something had happened and asked for my help in finding out the details.”

“Garak strikes me as the sort who didn’t ask Julian before enlisting your support.” Martok said, “I do not know what that boy sees in him.”

Worf agreed whole-heartedly but also knew better than to offer his opinion on the matter. Provided his crew was safe that was all he asked, and it seemed Julian had taken steps to that end as well. There was nothing else he could do with this unless Julian gave him permission to share the details with Starfleet. They would have to sit down and discuss this.

“Gentlemen,” Quark said, stepping towards their table, “the bar is closing. You’ll be on your way.”

The Klingons stood, Martok looked Worf over, “Walk with me,” he said.

Worf followed the man out of the bar and Quark locked the door behind them. They walked quietly through the empty promenade, stopping only on the second level to look out at the space where the wormhole was hiding, “A lot has happened in the three years I’ve been gone,” Martok said, “and I don’t think I’ll be awarded any rest. The Empire is in a great deal of trouble. The Dominion is coming.”

Worf nodded gravely, “We are prepared for an attack,” he said, though he did not know if everyone was as prepared as he was.

The General nodded. A sudden weariness took over him as the responsibilities he would soon have became clear. All he wanted now was the sleep. “ _Qapla’_!” He said, before walking towards the corridor where his temporary quarters were. The darkness of sleep would be welcomed tonight, and he could put off all worries until the morning.

 

**

The next morning Ko’tar and Drex met their father at the airlock to welcome Chancellor Gowron on board the station. Drex was giving his little brother hard glances, “Stop _smiling_ , you great _bloodworm_!” he growled, “You are a warrior! Act like it!”

Ko’tar rolled his eyes, a sickening Terran gesture if ever Drex had seen one, “You’re giving me a headache.”

Furious, Drex shouted: “ _Chay'pen rip mInDu'lIj burgh 'ej bo'Dagh Da'oghlaHneSchugh 'ej chaHvaD cha' vaSDaq vaj qaS quvHa' loQ loDnI' 'Iv pagh bIH'e' yISeH nuq Hoch legh_!”

Ko’tar wasn’t phased, he did not even blink as if the threat had offended him, “ _Va_ _j 'e' ruch_.” He replied, his tone so calm and low that it disrespected and enraged Drex further.

“Enough,” Martok snarled of his sons as Drex reached for his _d’k tahg_. He gave Ko’tar a pointed scowl, and that set the young man to looking away, chastised.

Drex settled down as well and put his blade away.

Captain Sisko, Major Kira, and the Changeling entered the airlock as well. The six waited patiently as Gowron’s personal guard marched out of the ship and into the hallway. Gowron stepped out, grinning and offered his hand to Martok, “’ _Qapla_!”

Martok responded with the same enthusiasm.

“You will need to tell me of your time with the Jem’Hadar,” Gowron said, straight to business, “Captain, let us discuss this further in one of your _private_ ,” here his mad eyes cast about the hallway to all in attendance, “rooms.”

“This way, Chancellor,” Sisko said in his honey-toned voice and motioned for the Klingons to follow him. For the next ni hours, they sat and discussed what their next steps would be.

 

**

With Klingons on board, Julian was kept busy that day. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t supposed to be on duty, but, with so many Klingons around Sisko couldn’t argue the need for more hands in the infirmary. Though he did insist the nurses be responsible for most of the work, and Julian could patch up minor abrasions, bruises, and cuts. It was unlikely anything requiring more than a regenerator would arise, even with the Klingons running around and drinking. By the end of his shift, Julian was quite tired and had a crick in the middle of his back he hadn’t been able to stretch out all day. He took the long way back to his quarters, hoping to avoid as many people as possible.

He needed to think about what had happened. He was fine with not seeing Martok again, at least romantically, though he felt a sort of hollowness when he thought of their night together. It had been one of the more enjoyable dalliances he’d had, certainly the most novel to date. Then that thought lead to considering Garak. How he had felt almost entirely _over_ the Cardassian until he showed up at the camp! And then Julian had panicked, told Martok to abruptly stop everything they’d let happen, and- and- and he’d done nothing. He hadn’t told Garak. Hadn’t invited him over. Had barely looked at him in all this time.

Julian was lost in thought until he arrived at his quarters and saw Martok there. He groaned inwardly, feeling anxiety swell in his belly. Instead, he smiled, “What can I do for you General?”

Martok offered a grunt and pointed at the door. Julian sighed and stepped inside, allowing the Klingon to enter.

“Look,” he said quickly, “I am not interested in having sex. I thought I made that-“

Martok interrupted him, “That was extremely conceited. Do you assume everyone wants to bed you?”

“No, but,” Julian huffed, now embarrassed as well as anxious, “Our situation is atypical.”

Martok didn’t ask him to explain. Instead, he said, “Your Garak has been asking about you and I. He seems to know, or at least, thinks he knows that something happened.”

Julian’s cheeks burned red, “How did you find out?”

“He asked Lieutenant Commander Worf to find out on his behalf, and Worf came to me directly,” Martok explained.

Julian groaned, “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing that would ruin your reputation,” Martok said because that wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn't the truth.

“It isn’t my reputation I’m worried about!” Julian said sharply.

“I know. It is your relationship with Garak.” Martok said and was pleased when Julian wore a shocked expression on his face, which told Martok he was right. Before Julian could ask any questions, the General continued, “If you do not say something to Garak soon he will not continue to pursue you. You cannot go about batting your eyes and spouting innuendos at every person you are infatuated with, Julian. It won’t get you what you want.”

Julian looked shamefully at his feet, “How would you know?”

“Well, you haven’t got Garak, and you haven’t got me,” Martok replied, and it made Julian flinch. The Klingon regretted the barb, but it was what had to be said. Julian had to stop behaving like a young man if he wanted to form any kind of meaningful relationship.

After a few moments, where Martok was sure Julian wouldn’t respond, and he’d have to leave with such uneasiness between them, the doctor spoke up; “I don't know what I need to do,” Julian admitted, his tone quiet, sounding thoroughly scolded.

“I would invite him over,” Martok said, “Tell him everything. Have him tend to your wounds. And, when he is about to leave, you put that smug, little mouth of yours to better use than talking. You’re terrible at talking, Julian.”

They both laughed, and it seemed easier. The air wasn’t as tense, and Julian finally lifted his eyes, and he smiled at Martok, “I’ll send him a communique tonight.”

Martok nodded, “I think that would be for the best. Good night, doctor.”

“Good night, General,” Julian said, and they lingered at the door. Julian stepped in, offering a kiss, or some other kind of tender parting, but Martok walked away quickly.

Now that this was settled, he had one thing left to do: tell his beloved Sirella about his transgression. Though he knew she would forgive him, he wasn’t certain he’d ever forgive himself for betraying her trust. Ah, well, he thought, it would be the honorable thing to do, and no Klingon worth his grit has ever postponed a matter of honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klingon translations:  
> Drex: "I am going to rip open your stomach and scoop out your organs and display them in the hall so everyone sees what happens to dishonorable little brothers who can't control themselves!"  
> Ko'tar: "Then do it."  
> d'k tahg is a traditional Klingon knife.


End file.
